


In Dreams

by Pyreite



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Corporeal form, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Disappointment, Dreams, Dreamsharing, Dreamwalker, Escape, F/M, Foci, Grief, Haunting, Hunting, In the Fade, Kissing, Lost - Freeform, Manifestation, Oneiromancy, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC, Post-The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt, Romance, Sanctuary, Somniari, Spirits, The Fade, Thought Projection, Uthenera (Dragon Age), Waking and Sleeping, change, fleeing, slowburn, wandering
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:01:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27931930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pyreite/pseuds/Pyreite
Summary: Avallac'h spends his days in his laboratory, researching the Hen Ichaer.  By night he's visited by a strange woman in his dreams.  He believes she's an oneiromancer, but she can do more than dream of the past and future.  He suspects that she's hiding from someone dangerous, that haunts her every step like a shadow.  A creature that takes the form of a wolf with eyes like rubies.
Relationships: Avallac'h/Female Lavellan, Female Lavellan/Solas, Fen'Harel/Female Lavellan (Dragon Age)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 31





	1. Eyes like Emeralds

Avallac’h found her inside his laboratory, staring at the tapestry on a wall. A woman of unknown origin that didn’t have the look of an Aen Seidhe or an Aen Elle. She had an Aen Seidhe’s height, but she was far shorter than the stoutest of the Aen Elle. He thought she might be human, even someone familiar until he saw her in profile. Her features were sharp and angular like the edge of a blade.

Her eyes were over-large beneath thick brows. Her nose was long and wide. Her cheekbones high, her chin pointed and her mouth lush and tempting. He thought her pretty until she turned around. He was reassured by her pointed ears, though he’d never seen an elf so dark.

She reminded him of the Ofieri merchants that traded spices from their homeland.

Her bronzed skin the colour of fertile earth after rain. The contrast was lovely against the silver of her hair that fell down her back in a thick braid. It was her eyes that unnerved him most. He was rooted on the spot when she faced him sly as a fox. Irises the green of emeralds peered back at him beneath pale lashes. He took a step backward, breath catching in his throat. 

She resembled a woodland sprite rather than Lara Dorren, but they had the same eyes. 

Zireael’s eyes.

He’d recognise that shade of green anywhere.

“Who are you?”

She frowned, looking him up and down. She ignored his question, turning on her heel. She walked away silent as a spectre, vanishing from sight. He peered left than right, trying to find her. He was half-convinced she was a ghost until he spied a distortion in the air. It flickered in the candlelight, a faint water-like ripple that was out of place.

He swiped at it, fingers catching on something solid.

He cried out in pain when his arm was twisted then pinned against his back. He was shoved forward and released with an immediacy that astonished him. He stumbled into a bookcase, though he spun on the balls of his feet. Dodging Eredin at court had taught him to have eyes in the back of his head. He preferred to face danger head on than to run from it.

His assailant reappeared in a haze of black smoke, glaring at him in remonstration.

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to touch what isn’t yours? Try it again and I’ll do more than twist your arm. I’ll break it”.

He rubbed his wrist, grimacing. She was stronger than she looked. “You’re an intruder in my home. Likely a thief though I can’t fathom how you got in. If anyone should be offended than it is I not you”.

“That’s fair, though you’ve got nothing worth stealing”.

He frowned uncertain if she were telling the truth. He glanced at the tapestry on the far wall, outlining the generations of Lara Dorren’s family tree. There the names of her descendants were stitched in silk thread. A wealth of information on the Elder Blood, yet she’d given it but a passing glance. He wasn’t sure if her interest had been feigned or genuine.

“You sound certain of that”.

“I looked around”, she replied with a sincerity that surprised him. “The most interesting thing you have is a wheel of cheese. The wine is terrible, though the bread wasn’t too stale. I helped myself, though the meal was far from filling. You eat like a rabbit”.

Avallac'h didn’t like her tone (or her audacity). “An intruder and a thief. You’re digging yourself in deeper with every word. You’ve made a terrible first impression. But if you don’t intend to rob and kill me than why are you here?”

“I needed a place to hide”.

He didn’t believe her, sensing that something was off. “You’re running from someone”.

“Let’s say that I’d prefer not to be found”.

He knew better than to ask why. She could refuse to answer or lie. He learned what he could from her garb, taking note of her pragmatism. This was no sorceress in a silk gown with a sheer décolletage. Her neck, wrists and fingers dripping with jewels in gold or platinum bands. 

This woman was armoured like a soldier, all hard lines and symmetry.

She wore a cuirass that reminded him of a leather corset without the lace and stiff boning. It covered her from hip to clavicle, the fit snug but comfortable. She had gauntlets upon her hands, vambraces on her wrists and couters at her elbows. She bore the weight of the pauldrons on her shoulders without complaint. The greaves upon her shins were followed by poleyns on her knees.

Although he was certain portions of her armour were fashioned from steel. The metal shone green-gold, shifting from yellow to verdant at the slightest motion. It seemed almost to glow in the candlelight, as if lit by some ethereal inner-fire. He’d never seen such a thing fashioned by the hands of men or elves. Not even in the forges of the greatest smiths of the Aen Elle.

A disappointment that must’ve shown upon his face.

She gave him a dirty look, her lip curling in distaste. She didn’t greet him or give her name. She appraised him as a farmer might a bull at a market, nose wrinkling as if she found him inadequate. A hasty snort, a shake of her head and she took a seat on his table. She arched an eyebrow expecting him to protest, though it would be of little concern to her if he did.

"Who are you?" he reiterated, to which she replied with a nonchalant shrug.

She sank back onto the tabletop, arms folding across her chest. Her stance was relaxed as one steel-shod boot slid across the other. She made herself comfortable as if she were waiting for someone. Avallac’h had little idea of whom that might be. She seemed unconcerned by his appearance or proximity, so it wasn’t him that she was worried about.

He was ready to make demands, his patience wearing thin.

But when he opened his mouth, an eerie howling filled the air. It was long, loud and desperate like the wailing of a grieving widow. It raised the hairs on the back of his neck. He tensed like a coiled spring, flattening himself against the bookshelf. He half-expected a pack of wolves or even a rabid werewolf to bound in the front door.

If an intruder had gotten in than all manner of beasts could too.

“What is that?”

His unexpected guest answered this time around. “Not what”, she corrected. “Whom. He’s looking for me. Don’t stick your head out that door, unless you want to lose it and most of your body”.

“I’d rather not”.

“You’re smarter than you look. I’m surprised considering how easy it was to sneak in here. You’re tidy for a bachelor. Although that pair of silk knickers I found in the bedroom made me wonder if you like wearing women’s things. They’re not yours perchance?”

He reddened. “You rifled through my belongings”.

She snorted as if he’d said something amusing. “Of course I did. It’s not every night that I happen upon another elf. Let alone someone squirrelling himself away in an underground laboratory near the coast. Your dreams are remarkably detailed for a hermit”.

She picked up the fluted stem of a small brass candelabra. It held the melted stump of a wax candle that’d burned down to the wick. A perfect source of light for a few hours of late night reading. He’d neglected to replace it and others on the tabletop beside the mountain of books and paperwork. Researching Lara Dorren’s genealogy had kept him busy for the last two hundred years. 

"This for example is crisp as if it were carved from marble. Even the wax drippings look real". She lifted the candelabra to her nose, sniffing it like a hound. "It even smells like wax with a side of soot. I can almost taste the smoke as if it were lit”.

“Dreams”, repeated Avallac'h, his blue eyes narrowing. “You would have me believe that this intrusion into my domain is but a figment of my imagination? My laboratory is warded within and without. You could not have entered it without setting off the aforementioned wards”. He paused, thinking back on what he’d said.

“Oh”.

She smirked with a smugness that infuriated him. "You're rather slow-witted for someone book-learned. How else did you think we could understand each other? I'm not one of your folk nor do I know your language. Thus you're asleep rather than awake, otherwise communicating would be much more difficult”.

"I noticed!" he snapped, disliking her candour. "You're not Aen Seidhe or Aen Elle. You're too skinny for a start. I had thought you were a wight risen from an elven graveyard. But there’s a noticeable lack of gauntness in your face”.

“Along with what?” she taunted. “Flaking mummified skin, a ribcage that sticks out and a skull with two sunken holes for eyes. I’m a living woman not one of the undead eager to rip apart some poor unfortunate soul. If you can’t tell the difference than you’ve spent too many hours squinting by candlelight. It’s made you half-blind”.

Avallac'h’s left eye twitched. He didn’t like her attitude or her tendency to talk back. Women of the Aen Elle were polite in distinguished company. This elven lass had the mouth and mind of a shrew. It grated at him that she didn’t care that he was of the Aen Saevherne.

A role and title that’d gained him respect and renown among his own people.

It took much of his self-control not to hiss at her like an irritable tomcat.

"If this is a dream as you claim”, he said, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice. “Then you must be an oneiromancer".

She arched a silver brow. “Is that what your folk call it? Such a odd name for an old skill”. She placed the candelabra back on the table with a dull thunk. “You didn’t think any of this was real did you?”

She gestured to the room’s high vaulted ceilings and drab brick walls. The mortar had gone black after centuries of exposure to smoke and candle-flame. There were a few pieces of furniture and a handful of soft furnishings. Tables, chairs, shelves, and trunks offered places to sit and store things. The rugs on the floor and tapestries on the walls softened the laboratory’s severe lines.

Avallac'h refused to acknowledge her accusation. He knew that she was right, though he was loathe to admit it. She was astute enough to rub his face in it. A fact that annoyed him. If she had known their meeting was part of a dream than why hadn’t he?

He gazed about his laboratory, trying to find something out of place. Yet every shelf, book, table, chair, candle, and sheaf of paper was as he’d left it. There was nothing odd that he could see from the ceiling, to the walls, and the rugs upon the floor. If this was a dream than it was an accurate reflection of his memories. So accurate that even the tapestry of Lara Dorren’s bloodline had been hung a little crooked.

An affront to his innate perfectionism that he'd never bothered to correct.

“You needn’t be too hard on yourself”, stated his guest with that grating honesty. “You’re seeing what I’ve drawn from your most recent memories. That’s why everything in here looks crisper than a loaf of baked bread straight from the oven. There aren’t any imperfections, because you’ve been asleep for less than an hour”.

“How can you know that?” demanded Avallac'h.

She smiled, snapping her fingers.

The room blurred like the faded text in a waterlogged scroll. The details were smudged then fuzzy and indistinct. He saw bright amber flames, the grey of the laboratory walls and the shadows above them. Then everything sharpened into focus. He recognised the lines of his shelves, tables, and chairs. 

He also recognised himself, slumped on the table she sat on.

His head was pillowed on his forearms, his eyes closed in slumber. A line of drool glistened at the corner of his mouth. Avallac'h blushed when she leered at his bare chest. The collar of his nightshirt had fallen open to reveal his tattooed clavicle. He thought it would impress until she told him exactly what she thought.

“Maker’s arse. Your vallaslin is ugly. Was the one who designed it near-sighted and fumble-fingered? I’ve never seen such crooked lines or shakier curves. Your clan’s blood-writer is absolute shit at their craft”.

Avallac'h took umbrage, his face purpling. He’d had enough of her rudeness. “Those markings are protective wards not tattoos! Wards that I designed and cast onto my own skin! How dare you insult my spellwork!”

She shrugged her shoulders, unfazed that she’d caused offence. “It’s still ugly. Couldn’t you have given more thought to the aesthetics? Once you strip out of your clothes, no one is going to find those marks attractive. That you’re thin as a twig without an ounce of muscle on you doesn’t help either”.

“I beg your pardon!” 

She looked him up and down again, shaking her head as if she’d found him lacking. “Your face is a masterpiece chiselled out of marble. Your eyes are the intense blue of aquamarines plucked from the heart of a mountain. It’s a pity you’re skinnier than a plucked chicken. I like my men pretty, but you’ve hardly got any meat on your bones”.

He blushed, blinking at her like an owl. His eyes so wide she could see the whites of his sclera. He was shocked and insulted by her sincerity. The compliments backhanded and accusatory as if he’d purposefully made himself unattractive. While two out of three wasn’t bad, he could tell that she was still unsatisfied.

“You’ve never lifted a sword or drawn a bow in your life. You’re a mage not a warrior. A scholar too if the number of books you own is any sign. You’ve spent your life sitting on your arse, reading about other people’s accomplishments. That’s the preference of scholars who think they can write history without being part of it”.

Avallac'h’s lip curled with indignation. He jabbed a finger at the archway that led into his laboratory. He was done being hospitable. She’d insulted him several times without remorse, a first in several hundred years. He hadn’t been this angry since he’d found out the love of his life had bedded a human.

“Out!”

She bowed her head. “As you wish. I’ve never stayed where I wasn’t wanted. He should be gone by now anyhow, so the danger is passed”. She pressed two fingers to her lips, blowing him a kiss in farewell.

Then she vanished from sight in a burst of black smoke. 

When the haze cleared, she was gone like a wraith in the wind. Avallac'h looked left and right, trying to find that odd distortion in the air. He saw something flicker in the candlelight then disappear out the corner of his eye. He turned his head, gasping when he felt the brush of lips upon his cheek. The kiss was chaste and without affection, though he still flushed to the pointed tips of his ears.

He didn’t see her leave by the door, nor did he hear the clip of her heels in retreat. 

She was there one moment then gone. It was disconcerting enough to rouse him from sleep. He awoke with a start, blinking blearily in the gloom. He glanced about the room, flinching when he spied a flash of light. He squinted until his eyes adjusted, the world bleeding into focus.

He saw the rows of candles on the bench beneath the tapestry of the Hen Ichaer. 

“Oh”, he groaned, letting his head fall into the palm of his hand. “It was a dream”. He paused then, brows furrowing when he spied something strange. There on the table under his arms was a brass candelabra, no larger than his hand. Inside it was a single wax candle melted down to the wick.

Avallac'h reached for it, remembering the woman he’d met.

A silver-haired shrew with eyes like emeralds, a sting for a tongue and a frankness that’d bruised. She’d been lovely to look at until she’d opened her mouth. He was half-convinced that she’d been a venomous asp in disguise. He wrapped his fingers around the candelabra, thinking to examine it up close. He flinched, snatching his hand back.

The brass was hot to the touch.

He glanced about his laboratory with sudden dread. Had he been alone? It was impossible to tell with everything in its proper place. The shelves were full of books, the rugs were on the floor and the walls were covered in tapestries. His refuge was as he’d left it before he’d dozed off into a troubled sleep.

“Oh”, he grumbled, shoving aside the open book he’d perused. Its pages were covered in tiny black writing resembling chicken-scratch. “No more reading about obscure elven folklore before bed. I have had enough of wolves, asps and urban legends. I need to get a proper night’s rest”.

He pushed back his chair, groaning as he got to his feet. 

The rug muffled his footfalls, though he never once noticed the statuette he’d acquired. It was small, made of obsidian and carved in the shape of a wolf. It sat upon his table beside the abandoned book, its eyes flashing red then dimming. Avallac'h trudged through his abode, yawning as he retired for the night. His bedroom door opened with a click as he stepped through it.

It closed soon after.

Outside the laboratory, beyond the wards near the beach. A black wolf with eyes like rubies sniffed the ground, its wet nose quivering. It smelt salt, sand and sea as the tide rolled inland. It followed a trail of faint footprints not washed away by the waves. The scent of pine needles, blade-oil and the feminine musk of his beloved were fading.

She’d been here a few hours ago, though he knew not where she’d gone.


	2. Destiny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited. First Draft.

Avallac’h awoke to an unexpected surprise. He stared at the table he’d slept at the night before. It was tidier than he’d left it. The book he’d read was closed, his papers in a neat pile beside it. The brass candelabra was clean, the new candle lit with an amber flame.

There was a satchel on the table, along with a small statuette of an animal. On closer inspection it was a wolf lounging on its belly like a cat. The ears perked in alertness, were upon a head turned towards the observer. The wedge-like tail was a shapely curve against its flank. The eyes were tiny flecks of ruby inset in a lupine face with a long snout.

Fashioned from obsidian, it fit into the palm of his hand.

It was black as a raven's wing and polished till it gleamed. Candlelight glinted off its curved edges in a multitude of colours. He saw yellow, red, purple and blue reflected there like a rainbow in a pool of oil. Even the ruby eyes shone as if lit from the inside. Avallac’h was too unnerved to touch it, so he unbuckled the satchel instead.

He flicked back the flap, expecting to find something unpleasant inside.

He saw not an agitated scorpion, but several wrapped packages. He pulled one out, finding a bundle of coarse linen. He frowned, sniffing it like a hound. He smelt the sharpness of aged cheddar. He unwrapped the linen, staring when he found a wedge of cheese.

He set it down upon the table, more puzzled than appeased.

He pulled more packages from the satchel, unwrapping each one. Moments later he took a seat, gaping at the bounty on his table. There were crocks of honey, butter and jam. A bottle of wine and an uncut loaf of bread beside that wedge of cheese. There was even a leg of ham on the bone.

It was a veritable feast, though Avallac’h wasn’t sure whom had left it.

He glanced about the laboratory, wondering if he was being watched. He knew better than to eat a gift of food left out like a slice of cheese for a mouse. There wasn’t a cat in waiting, though he wondered if it was bait. It could be a trap, though he didn’t know who’d set it. He had enemies aplenty so he chose to be cautious.

He spent the next hour checking every warding spell he’d cast.

He sank back in his chair sweaty, hungry and irritated. The wards were intact, nothing had entered his abode nor left it within the past week. He was the sole occupant of the laboratory he kept on the Pali Gap Coast in Skellige. He was thirsty though he didn’t allow himself the luxury of indulgence. He spent another hour investigating if the food was glamoured, poisoned or fake.

Famished and furious, he didn’t find signs of tampering.

The food was exactly as it appeared to be. He cursed in Ellylon, nose twitching at the delectable smell of fresh bread. He groaned in annoyance, getting to his feet again. He went off to find himself a goblet, a plate and a knife. He returned in moments with cutlery and crockery in hand.

He helped himself at last, confident in his spellwork.

He groaned when he bit into his sandwich. The bread was soft, the butter freshly churned, the cheese sharp and tangy. His mouth watered when he tasted the ham. It was salty, sweet and tinged with a delicious smokiness. He ate with relish, licking his fingers as he sipped a goblet of spiced wine.

It was the best meal he’d had in weeks.

The rest of Avallac’h’s day passed in relative ease. He spent the time researching, making notes and reading about obscure elven legends. He was so engrossed in his work that he forgot about the dream from the previous night. He was dozing at the table by dusk, eyes heavy-lidded with weariness. He slumped in his chair, chin on his chest as he fell asleep.

* * *

He knew he was dreaming when he found her sitting in a chair. She’d made herself comfortable, long legs crossed at the knee. She leaned against the table, helping herself to titbits from a plate. He saw slices of ham, cheese, and bread slathered with butter. She sipped from his abandoned goblet, winking at him when she refilled it to the brim.

The bottle of wine was half-empty, though she was far from sozzled.

“You look better after a decent meal”, she told him, recorking the bottle. She set it back on the table with a glassy clink. “I’m glad you enjoyed my gift. I hope you’re feeling a little less inhospitable. I’ve made an apology for my unexpected appearance in your dreams last night”.

Avallac’h leaned back in his chair, gawking as if she were an apparition. She was the same as he remembered. Garbed from head to toe in leather and steel that glowed an eerie green-gold. She wore a black skirt, split at the hip with a panel in front and back. Much like Zireael though hers lacked embroidery, favouring pragmatism over aesthetics.

“You’re real”.

She smiled with a flash of white teeth. “Quite”. She gestured to the bounty she’d brought for him. The ham was shaved down by a quarter. The bread but half-a-loaf.

He was more confused than afraid. “I thought you were a dream”.

“Oh, I am. Although from where I come from. There’s a thin line between waking and sleeping. There’s an even thinner line between dreams and reality. I’m somewhere between, although I can cross over without difficulty”.

He didn’t believe her. “That’s impossible”.

Her green eyes sparkled in delight. “For you it is. But I’m not from this world or yours. So whatever rules you understand of magic and whatnot don’t apply to me. Infuriating isn’t it?”

The shrew had him there.

Avallac’h liked her even less than before. He already knew that she was abrupt, rude, blunter than a spoon and incapable of common courtesies. That she dangled knowledge under the tip of his nose irked him. He was of the Aen Saevherne, an elven sage wise in the ways of scholarship and the arcane. That this woman hailed from a world unknown to him was an insult.

That she knew it was an even greater offence.

His eyes narrowed, the bridge of his nose wrinkling in distaste. He hadn’t found himself at odds with another elf since Lara had questioned his morality. Zireael had done the same during her imprisonment in Tir Na Lia. He eyed the woman at his table, noting the intense emerald-green of her irises. She batted her silver lashes with the coquettishness of a courtesan looking for a patron.

She laughed when he blushed then scowled like a jilted suitor.

“Quite”, he repeated, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Who are you?”

She sipped from his goblet, groaning as wine rolled across the back of her tongue. It was sweet with a hint of spiciness, though it lacked that acidic after-taste. She swallowed, setting the goblet back on the table. It was pleasant to eat and drink in the company of another. Although her host was far from welcoming.

“I’m someone in need of help”.

So they would go around in circles before she admitted anything. Lara had been fond of word-games too. Avallac’h was reminded of her the instant his guest arched a silver brow. She gauged his worth with a single glance, though with neither derision nor deceit in her gaze. He sensed an honesty about her, even a touch of desperation.

He asked the most pertinent question. “What kind of help?”

“I need you to identify something for me”.

“Why?”

“Curiosity”.

He considered her request, weighing the risk. He nodded to the satchel on the table, surrounded by the unwrapped food. The leg of ham, the wedge of cheese, the bread and crock of butter were laid out for a meal. She’d helped herself already, though that didn’t worry him. He was more concerned about the lounging wolf with flecks of ruby for eyes.

“What of the creature chasing you?”

She followed where he looked, nodding when she spied the statuette. “Another gift. When its eyes glow red, it’ll be warning of his presence. You’d best not venture outside. If he finds you than he’ll find me. So be vigilant if you want to keep your head where it belongs”.

Avallac’h’s lip curled with indignation. “Is that a threat?”

“A friendly warning. He’s an oneiromancer, but far more powerful than I am. That he can manifest in your dreams is evidence enough of his aptitude. He’s also a persistent bastard. I’d hoped he would’ve given up by now”.

That was perturbing news. “Is he hunting you?”

“What would you call being pursued with a relentlessness that borders on obsession?”

He thought of his mad flight with Zireael through a multitude of worlds. They’d never stopped for more than a few days. Eredin and the Wild Hunt had followed with the persistence of a pack of wolves. They’d come close to catching them many times, though never unawares. Their travels between the worlds had caused magical shockwaves too.

The ripples had reverberated across time and space. Although not as loudly or as intense as Zireael, but still traceable if one knew how. Avallac’h wondered if the woman at his table could do the same. Yet thus far she’d exhibited none of Zireael’s gifts, a legacy of the Elder Blood. But even Lara had dreamt with a clarity that’d bordered on prescience.

If this woman had her eyes – had Zireael’s eyes.

Was it too much to hope?

He was willing to take a chance on her. It was plain that she’d taken considerable risk to reach him. It was also possible that her presence at his table was a ruse. He doubted she was in liege with Ge’els or the court of the Aen Elle. The court of the Aen Seidhe was dust, the ruins of their civilisation scattered like debris.

Humans were unlikely to collude with elves, considering the animosity between their races.

She’d found him on her own, not at the behest of another.

Certain of his judgement. Avallac'h made her an offer. “If I help you. What’s in it for me?”

“An answer to a question that only I can provide”. She gestured to the tapestry on the far wall of his laboratory. The genealogy of Lara Dorren’s descendants on full display. “You’re looking for something you can’t name for fear that it might be stolen. Again. If you help me than you might find it”.

Her perceptiveness unnerved him. “You wanted me to identify something?”

She nodded then turned over her right-hand. She unbuckled the straps on the underside of her gauntlet. The metal shone green-gold in the candlelight. She removed it with the ease of a soldier used to putting on armour. The vambrace came next as did the glove beneath it until she was barehanded.

He saw the scars upon her fingers, across the back of her hand.

“You’ve been in battle”.

“Many times”, she replied without conceit. “But that isn’t why I’m here”. She grasped something that encircled her index-finger. It came off in one piece. She set it on the table before him, sitting back in her seat with an expectant look.

It was a platinum band with a square bezel.

Avallac'h glanced from her to the ring, his brows furrowing. He picked it up, turning it over to examine it. The signet ring was smaller than those worn by noblemen. The engraved bezel plain rather than inset with a jewel. It was meant for the delicate fingers of a woman. The engraving was distinctly feminine – a flower with six petals in the shape of a star.

It could be mistaken for a snowflake.

He recognised it with an immediacy that astonished him. It was a symbol associated with one woman in Tir Na Lia. He inhaled a shuddering breath, brows arching in surprise. He gazed at the visitor at his table, mouth quivering like a plucked lute-string. The corners of his eyes prickled, the pressure almost painful.

A single tear slipped down his cheek. He blinked it away, lashes fluttering.

He held the ring between his thumb and forefinger. He presented it to her with a sense of apprehension. His fingers clenched the instant she tried to take it back. He hesitated to return it, gaping at her as if she were a miracle. His breath hitched when she returned his gaze with the fearlessness of a woman he respected.

The green of her eyes glinted like shards of emerald.

“Where did you get this ring?”

“You recognise it”.

“I do”, he affirmed, trying to keep his voice steady. Another tear slipped down his cheek, splashing the tabletop. It left a wet stain that glistened in the candlelight. “Don’t toy with me”, he begged in earnest. “How did you acquire it?”

She said nothing, opening the palm of her hand. Avallac'h swallowed his pride, dropping the band with a pained expression. He waited with bated breath as she slid it back onto her finger. She sat back in her chair, regarding him with suspicion. Her brows knitted, though she answered at last.

“It was given to me”.

“By whom?”

“My father. He said that it belonged to my mother”.

“Did you know her?”

She shook her head, inhaling a nervous breath. “She left him when I was a baby. I don’t know where she went, why or if she’s still alive. This ring is but one of two things I have of the woman that abandoned her family. The other is a name”.

“Tell me”.

“Promise me that you won’t repeat it. Not to a friend, ally, colleague, acquaintance or to a stranger. If you betray me in word, thought or deed. You will never see me again. Of that you can be assured”.

Avallac'h gritted his teeth, infuriated by her conditions. “That is not fair!”

“I am being hunted!” she hissed. “You will keep my secrets! Or I will take them with me! Do you understand? I will not be a pawn, yours least of all!”

He closed his eyes, feeling the weight of history upon his shoulders. Lara had demanded the same to save the baby in her womb. A halfbreed mongrel the Alder King would’ve torn from her belly then cast in the dirt. He’d kept his promise, informing Auberon after the child had been born. That Lara had died within hours of giving birth had almost cost him his head.

Her loss had aggrieved the Alder King.

Thousands of humans would be slain or enslaved in the centuries that followed. Their lives taken as recompense for the loss of Lara Dorren, pride of the Aen Elle. A pride Avallac'h had spent centuries trying to reclaim. He’d failed time and again, knowing that Cregennan of Lod hadn’t cheated the Alder Folk. Lara had chosen to leave them to carve her mark upon the world.

A choice she’d paid for in blood.

Avallac'h capitulated with a single slow nod of acquiescence. It was enough to reassure his unexpected guest. She exhaled the breath she’d been holding, sighing in relief. She’d expected him to refuse, though he didn’t allow her to recover. He returned her scrutiny, seeing Lara peer back at him with the fieriness of her bloodline.

“Your mother’s name”.

The woman haunting his dreams looked down her nose at him. There was pride in her bearing, even wariness though she didn’t back down. She let him see her as she truly was, the glamour falling away to reveal the scars upon her face. The first cut through her right-brow, the lid of her eye and down into the curve of her cheek. The second sliced from her left-ear to her jaw, ending an inch below the corner of her mouth.

“Adalia”.

Avallac'h gaped at her in disbelief. Few of the Alder Folk knew that name, fewer still associated it with Lara Dorren. He couldn’t believe that she knew it, considering its importance. He glanced at the ring on her finger that glittered like a shard of ice. The flower engraved onto the bezel had been worn by the woman that’d shared the Alder King’s throne.

He told her what he knew.

“Your signet ring belongs to a noblewoman of the Aen Elle. She was called Shiadhal by her husband and her people, but to her family she was Adalia. An elven sage with an affinity for ice magic. She was Rhena Gynvael, the Ice Queen who first led the Dearg Ruadhri. Her Red Riders were so feared across the worlds, that their foes dubbed them The Wild Hunt”.

Avallac'h went quiet, bracing for her reaction. Where he’d expected surprise, he found disappointment instead. The woman at his table bowed her head, exhaling a weary breath. Her shoulders slumped with a resignation that perturbed him. She shook her head, asking him a question that filled him with pity.

“What if I stole the ring?”

He was quick to dismiss the possibility. “You didn’t”.

“How can you know that?” she demanded. “Everything I’ve told you could be a lie. I could be here to kill you”.

“You’re not”.

She lifted her head, her silver brows furrowing. Avallac'h saw the tears welling in her eyes, the indecision, the hurt and anger. He knew she hadn’t come to murder him when those tears spilled over. She wiped them away on the back of her hand, scowling when she saw the ring on her finger. She glanced from it to Avallac'h, the width of the table between them.

“How do you know I’m not lying?”

“Because you have your mother’s eyes. Your half-sister did too. So does your niece, though you are separated by several hundred human generations. They were honest creatures, incapable of lying even to those they loved. You are the same though you don’t know it yet”.

She touched her fingers to her cheek, inches below her right-eye. “My father said that too. ‘You look like me, but you have your mother’s eyes’. I thought he was humouring me, but he was right. Everyone in our clan had grey, blue, brown or hazel eyes but never green”.

“You are unique”.

“I didn’t want to be. But the course of my life has never been a straight road”. She sank back in her seat, grimacing as she recalled her past struggles. “Babae said the answers I sought wouldn’t bring me peace. He may be right, though I’ve yet to find out”.

It was then that Avallac'h understood. “Did you know your mother at all?”

“She left but hours after I was born. In her absence a widow with a new baby became my wet-nurse. She helped my father raise me until she married him. But no matter how kind, loving or considerate she was. No matter how much she made my father happy”.

“You knew that she wasn’t your mother”.

She nodded, feeling ashamed of herself. “I loved and respected her. I was grateful that she’d given us a family, but I couldn’t accept her in that role. It hurt my father and caused her son great resentment. There was little love lost between us when I left them behind”.

“You have not been home?”

“Not in a very long time”.

Avallac'h knew that he’d never been able to control Lara, or Zireael. He’d tried to influence their decisions, but they’d proven too strong-willed. Neither had been cowed for long when they'd found holes in the net they were entangled in. Lara had left him of her own volition. So had Zireael.

He wondered if the woman sitting at his table would leave him too.

He proceeded with caution, sensing that her threats were valid. If he set a foot wrong than she would disappear like smoke in the wind. He'd failed twice already, he refused to fail a third time. If she was in danger than he would aid her as he had Zireael. Between worlds or across them, the legacy of the Elder Blood had to be safeguarded.

“I will keep your secrets, including your mother’s name. I will speak of it to no one unless you say otherwise. As I promised your elder sister, I promise you. I will do everything in my power to keep you safe, for as long as you have need of me. I will also teach you how to use your abilities should you need tutelage”.

She stared at him. “You believe me”.

“I do”.

“Why?”

“If it was Zireael’s destiny to find me”, he declared with certainty. “Than it was yours too”.

She frowned, her eyes narrowing. “You sound sure of that”.

“You are here. It is confirmation enough”.

“I suppose”.

Avallac'h exhaled a weary sigh, feeling his heart sink. He was relieved, elated and horrified by Shiadhal’s deception. In the annals of Tir Na Lia she’d perished in battle, allowing Eredin to assume command of the Wild Hunt. A sarcophagus in the royal mausoleum bore her likeness in white marble. Yet if she’d borne a second child than she hadn’t died.

The woman sitting at his table contradicted what he’d thought was true.

“May I ask you something?”

She eyed him with suspicion. “That depends on what you want”.

The corners of his mouth curved upwards in a half-smile. He didn’t expect her to trust him. They’d only just met. It would take weeks for her to feel comfortable enough in his presence to let her guard down. Although he wondered what would constitute the nature of their relationship.

“I would like to know your name”.

“You first”.

He laid a hand upon his chest, directly over his heart. “I am Crevan Espane aep Caomhan Macha also known as Avallac'h”.

“Which do you prefer?”

“The latter”.

“Then Avallac’h is it”. She rolled her eyes when he gestured to her with a wave of his hand. “I was Elaine when I was born, though my father called me Ellana. He told me that it was ‘his way of moving on with his life’. A necessity when he had a newborn that needed constant care and attention”.

Her bitterness spoke volumes about her childhood. Avallac'h wondered if her father had even realised the import of the gift he’d had. If she was of the Elder Blood than she was precious beyond words. He would have to test her to be certain. It looked promising, though he was perturbed by her oddness.

Oneiromancers couldn’t project themselves into another’s subconscious. They recalled past events or foresaw the future. They were supposed to be unable to converse with the dreamer. Or so he’d thought until now. He wondered if the Elder Blood had undergone a mutation.

If Ellana could bend the laws of magic like Zireael.

What else was she capable of?

He didn’t speak his musings aloud. “You were a baby”.

“Yet growing up it felt as if I was a burden”, revealed Ellana with an unhappiness that irked Avallac’h. “I looked like my father, but I had my mother’s eyes. I was a constant reminder of the woman that’d once shared his heart and bed. A lingering shadow of a love he couldn’t forget. He was a good father, but part of him was always distant”.

“Do you hate him?”

“I envied his happiness. He had a wife and family of his own. He was content, while I was restless and wilful. The wayward child preferring to wander than to stay at home. Then the opportunity came to leave him. So I did”.

“Like your mother. Do you regret it?”

“I didn’t then, but I do now”.

Avallac'h saw the craggy line between her brows. The corners of her mouth turned down, her lower-lip wobbling. She sniffed as the tears slipped down her cheeks. Her lashes were wet when he reached across the table. He offered her his hand, palm up and fingers splayed.

“You are not alone. I am here”.

She hesitated at first, unsure of herself. She’d been alone for decades, unable to rely on anyone after the disbanding of the Inquisition. Her friends had passed, one after another in the years following the Tearing of the Veil. So many had died in the war that’d come after. That she’d survived was more an insult than a victory.

“All right”, she agreed, reaching back. Ellana laid her hand in his, breath hitching when he clasped her fingers. His grip was warm, tight and reassuring. She squeezed his hand, thankful to be accepted. “So it begins”.

Her words sent a shiver of foreboding down Avallac'h’s spine. “What begins?”

“The hunt”, she replied, glancing at the obsidian wolf on his table. Its ruby eyes glowed like hot-embers. “If he finds me than he’ll try to take me back. We’ll have days at best, perhaps even a handful of weeks. I’ll do what I can to keep him off my trail”.

“Why does he want you?”

She looked him in the eye. “You know why”.

“You’re a Source like Zireael”.

“Yes. Although my father’s people think I’m a living foci. Most are inanimate objects capable of absorbing latent magical energy. I unlocked one by accident, causing an explosion that levelled a mountainside. Everyone nearby was incinerated”.

That got his attention. “How did you survive?”

“I crossed the barrier between worlds. It happened in an instant, though I don’t know how”. She shook her head, frowning. “I was falling then I wasn’t and the rest is a blur. I still have trouble remembering what happened”.

“Nothing is clear?”

She shrugged, uncertain. “It’s easier for me to dream-walk than to travel physically between worlds. I can project my thoughts across the Fade. It acts like a bridge. The transition is seamless, though that might be because I’m in Uthenera”.

“Uthenera?” asked Avallac'h.

“I’m asleep somewhere. Or my body is”.

“Are you in danger?”

“Maybe. I was hurt, so they made me sleep to heal. But my spirit and mind wandered. Now I can't find my way back. It could’ve been days, weeks, months or years since they put me under. Time passes differently in the Fade”.

His eyes widened in alarm. “You’re in limbo”.

“Worse”, corrected Ellana. “I’m lost”.


	3. To Seek is to Find

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited, 2nd draft.

“Ellana”.

“Yes?” she replied, toying with the stem of Avallac'h’s goblet. It was a plain boring brass, a surprise considering he was gentry. She’d never met an elven noble, but she’d known human aristocrats that’d strutted like peacocks. She’d seen velvet doublets, ruffled pantaloons and ornate brocade gowns. Avallac’h’s sense of fashion while refined was less pomp and glitter.

He favoured greys and browns with accents in red, blue and green.

There was a touch of embroidery in his garments, though it was understated. His robe was blue, his shirt and breeches grey, while his boots were a dull brown. He wore neither a sheath nor a blade on his belt, though he carried a multitude of pouches instead. Each was small with steel buckles dulled by use, but without a speck of rust. His clothes were clean if stained, though he was by no means shabby.

His face was clean and unblemished, his hair while cut in a severe style was neater than most.

He cleaned up nice for an elven recluse, but he was incredibly nosy and single-minded.

“How did you find me?”

She arched a silver brow, giving him a bored look. “The clarity and content of your dreams”. She snorted when he flinched as if she’d divined his secrets. He stared at her, ashen-faced and trembling with dread. Her amusement soured when he blinked owlishly, his brows furrowed.

“You needn’t worry. I never delve into a person’s subconscious without permission. Call it a personal code of honour. I skim the surface of a sleeper’s mind, but I never go deeper than that. It can get dangerous if you do”.

Avallac’h was still afraid. “Why?”

“A person’s mind is like a pond of water. Touch the surface and you’ll see their most recent memories. Sink in a little and you can get stuck fast. It’s like jumping into a puddle when you can’t see the bottom. You get caught first in the mud, then you sink like a stone until you drown”.

“That sounds ominous”.

“It is when you can’t get out of a dream. Spirits wander the paths between waking and sleeping. They’re like spiders feeling out the tendrils of their webs. If they catch you trespassing where you shouldn’t. They can capture your consciousness and take control of your body in the waking world”.

He comprehended the danger. “You’ve described the exact method of demonic possession”.

“Not exactly”, corrected Ellana. “It takes a certain amount of influence and coercion on behalf of the spirit. Mages are more susceptible to corruption, but children are most vulnerable. I once met a spirit that’d appeared to a young girl as a cat. It became her pet to earn her trust”.

That made him curious. “Did it harm her?”

“It slipped under her skin like a shadow, thereby assuming her identity. The little girl was gone, subsumed until only the spirit remained. I encountered her years later, married to a Duke with a family of her own. I knew what she was at first sight, something that caused her great anxiety. She offered me sanctuary, then behind closed doors begged me not to reveal her secret”.

Avallac'h grimaced, perturbed by the news. “What did you do?”

“I let her be”.

“Why?”

“She was a wife and mother with four children. All born of her body not from another’s womb. I knew then that she loved her husband. I didn’t want to make him a widower, or to leave her children motherless. I learned afterwards that her husband knew she was a Maleficar because she’d told him”.

“Maleficar?”

“It’s what the mages from my world call a person possessed by a spirit”. She cut him off before he could ask. “No. I won’t enlighten you about the Fade, spirits or how Maleficar are created. I’ve shared enough already”.

Her bluntness irked him. “Fine. I can live with that. Although I am curious as to what her husband thought. Did he care that she was Maleficar?”

“No. He loved her too”.

She smiled when he grimaced in distaste. “Don’t screw up your face like that. She was a good woman, a better wife and a wonderful mother. I bet you’ve known all manner of strange folk. Associating with them would’ve added colour to your otherwise boring existence”.

He was offended on principle. “I am not boring!”

She snickered, raising her stolen goblet. She tipped her head to him in acknowledgement. “Says the scholar to the rogue, whose nose has been in a book for most of his life. I’ll drink to that even if I don’t believe it”. She brought the goblet to her lips, taking a deep draught of the spiced wine she’d purloined.

Avallac'h was far from appeased. This might have been a dream, but it was his subconscious. He deserved a little less of her cheek, but if Ellana was anything like Zireael. She would be wilful and uncooperative with a fiery temper. He’d seen a touch of that feistiness when they’d first met.

He wondered how far he could push before she snapped at him again.

“Ellana”.

“Yes?” she declared, smirking when he called her by name.

“How did you find me?”

He was annoyed by the nonchalant shrug of her shoulders. She’d done that the previous night too. He’d asked who she was, not that she’d provided an answer until tonight. The woman was an enigma that needed unravelling. He wanted to know more about her, though he doubted she’d be forthcoming.

He was astounded when she proved him wrong.

“Lara”.

“What did you say?” he cried, slapping a hand down on the table with a bang. The goblet jumped with a brassy clink, teetering on its base till Ellana righted it. A few droplets of wine had escaped, splashing the tabletop in shiny red beads. Avallac'h stared at her goggle-eyed, mouth a gaping chasm in his face. He thought he’d heard her wrong.

She couldn't have meant his deceased betrothed.

Ellana frowned, puzzled by his response. “Lara sent me to find you”, she replied. “She was adamant that I’d be safest in your company. She said that you’d known her in life, that you were friends. Did she lie?”

The revelation left Avallac’h shaking down to his toes. “No”.

“Why are you surprised then?”

His brows arched in astonishment. “She has been dead for more than a hundred years. You could not have spoken to her”. He sank back in his chair, head shaking in bewilderment. “It is impossible”.

“How do you know that?”

“I have tried to summon her spirit, so that we could converse”.

“She never appeared to you?”

“Not once in the passed century”.

Ellana went quiet, peering back at him from under her lashes. She said nothing, though her silence was telling. She watched him go still then frown till craggy lines wrinkled his forehead. He glared at her in remonstration, the bitterness of Lara’s betrayal still stinging. He spat another question, seething with jealousy.

“You have seen her?”

She uncrossed her legs, refusing to answer.

“Ellana!”

She set the heels of her boots on the floor, ignoring him as she got to her feet. She straightened, arching a silver brow when Avallac'h’s chair clattered to the floor. He’d shot up too, chest heaving as he laid his hands on the table. His fingers pressed down hard enough to turn his knuckles white with the strain. His nails bit into the wood like claws.

“Why did Lara never appear when I summoned her?”

Her answer was succinct. “Because she’s been with me. I don’t know for how long. My perception of time is distorted. She found me while I was wandering the paths between worlds”.

“How?” he hissed. “When?”

She shrugged.

“You must know something!”

She would’ve taken pity on him if not for Lara’s warning. Avallac'h was of the Aen Saevherne, an elven sage of the Aen Elle. He was as astute as he was clever. He was also a gifted mage with centuries of experience in spellcasting and magical lore. He could help her, but his morals were as liquid as his sense of loyalty.

“She told me where to find you, but she never said that I should trust you”. She inclined her head when he blanched at her words. “She knows what you’ve done, though she’s grateful you saved Zireael from Eredin. She hasn’t forgiven you for luring her to Tir ná Lia. Or for trapping her there, lying to her and allowing her to be used by Auberon Muircetach”.

“You know what happened?”

“I have seen Zireael’s memories in the world of the Aen Elle. I know what she endured at the hands Of the Alder King. If you intend that for me, it’ll end badly. While I’d carve you into pieces, I’m afraid the wolf that hunts me will do worse. I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s why he’s been so persistent in trying to find me”.

Avallac'h didn’t like her tone. “What do you mean?”

She looked him in the eye, the brazen honesty in her gaze frightening him. “He likely saw Zireael’s memories too. The days of her capture, the humiliation she suffered and the outcome when she escaped. If he suspects there’s the slightest chance that could happen to me”.

“He would kill to protect you”.

“The wolf would do worse than that”.

His eyes widened with sudden realisation. “He would attack Tir ná Lia?”

“If I was there and he believed me a captive. He’d try. Lucky for you that’s quite impossible if I’m stuck in the Fade. While I can cross from a dream into the waking world. I can’t maintain corporeal form long enough to pull myself through”.

His brows furrowed in confusion. He was perturbed by the revelations she’d made. “What? I don’t understand. How can you materialise in the waking world if you’re a wandering spirit?”

“I’m asleep not dead!” protested Ellana.

“How would you know?”

“Let’s find out. Shall we?” She swiped the goblet off the table, holding it aloft. “I’ll try not to get any up your nose, but I won’t be sorry if I do. Try not to drown”.

* * *

Avallac'h awoke with a gasp, cold, sticky and stinking of fermented fruit. He sputtered in outrage at finding himself soaked to the skin. His face and nightshirt were splattered with red. His nose filled with the cloying sweetness of Ellana’s spiced wine. She’d doused him liberally, dark droplets streamed off the bridge of his nose.

He picked at his wet shirt, grumbling epithets in Ellylon.

He smelt like a brewery. He patted himself down, grimacing when his shirt stuck to his fingers. It clung to his chest and neck too, feeling cold, wet and horrible. He gave up trying to find the handkerchief he always kept on his person. He shoved his chair back from the table with an angry thump.

He picked at the buttons on his shirt, trying to undo the collar.

He froze when something smacked him in the chest. It was small, round and soft though wadded into a ball. He picked it up, wondering where it’d come from. The bundle of linen lay heavy in his hand as he realised that he wasn’t alone. He swallowed, hoping that he hadn’t invited the devil in his front door.

He lifted his chin, skin prickling with unease.

He saw the table, the chair beside it and beyond that a shadow on the floor. The shape of it confused him until he looked up with trepidation. He saw steel-shod boots, the overlapping plates riveted together glowed that ethereal green-gold. The greaves were the same as were the poleyns at the knee. They lacked the thigh-hugging cuisse, though he recognised that panel of black fabric.

It hung from their waist, plain and unadorned.

He relaxed, recognising the owner of the armour and clothes. He looked up, expecting to see a tight corset without the bone ribs or lacing. He was relieved when he saw the leather cuirass that covered her from clavicle to hip. He paused when he spied her pauldrons, something glinted off the metal. He glanced upward, expecting to see the bronzed slope of her throat.

He was astonished when he saw pale lines like the veins of a leaf.

Each was thin and delicate as the gossamer threads of a spider’s web. The lines appeared painted rather than incised into the skin, each flowing into the next. He followed the pattern upwards, brows arching when it curved around the point of her chin. He’d only seen Imlerith of the Wild Hunt, bandits, skelligans and scoia’tael with their faces tattooed. It was considered a crude art by the Aen Elle.

But against the darkness of her skin, the ivory lines were beautiful. Avallac'h had never seen such intricacy. He forgot his sodden shirt, the buttons undone at his collar. He rose from his seat, carrying the ball of wadded linen in his fist. He crossed the floor in two strides, reaching for Ellana before he thought to stop himself.

He was moments from running his fingers over her cheeks.

He paused an inch from touching her face, hand hovering in the air. It turned awkward when he realised how close they were. Almost nose to nose, he could feel her breath on his lips. Warm, wet and full of anticipation. She blinked her silver lashes, a slight flush in her cheeks. She was dark, tattooed and slender as a sapling.

Her wild silver hair had been tamed into a braid. Although errant curls had escaped to form an unruly fringe. The vine-like lines climbed her temples then disappeared into her tresses. Avallac'h swallowed when he looked into her dark emerald-green eyes. He saw himself reflected there, as if he were peering into a mirror.

“Elaine blath”, he whispered, slipping into Hen Llinge.

Ellana not understanding a word he’d said, took immediate offence. She jabbed him in the sternum with the point of her finger. She jabbered at him like an irate songbird, twittering phrases in a language he didn’t understand. The moment of intimacy was lost. She went from a blushing maiden to an incensed magpie, squawking her displeasure.

Avallac'h wondered what he’d said that was so terrible.

She was glaring at him as if he’d called her something foul. He’d never before found himself in trouble for telling a maiden she was fair as a flower. He was worried when her fingers curled into a fist. The flash of her eyes, narrowed in fury reminded him so much of Zireael that he panicked. He stepped forward in desperation, hoping to avoid being spitted on a blade.

He’d never tried this with Zireael on account of the dagger buckled to her belt.

The girl had a witcher’s reflexes to match her fiery temperament. A dangerous combination in a dh’oine with a fractious disposition. He wondered if Ellana was the same, though he didn’t get the chance to find out. The moment he cupped her cheek, the pale lines upon her skin glowed white-hot. He gazed into her eyes, realising he’d made a mistake.

Those strange lines upon her face weren’t tattoos, but the mark of a powerful warding spell.

He was flung backward as if thrown by a pair of invisible hands.

The spell sent him hurtling towards the laboratory’s far wall. He would’ve collided with Lara Dorren’s family tree if Ellana hadn’t disappeared in a flash of silver. She reappeared behind him in a swirling blast of ice-magic that frosted the very air. She caught Avallac’h in her arms, fog streaming from her shoulders. Her armour was crusted with ice when he landed hard in the cocoon of her body.

They tumbled to the floor, inches from striking the bench beneath Lara’s tapestry.

The candles had extinguished, the wicks smoking. Ellana smelt the melted wax and soot beneath the glacial bite of her magic. A second inheritance from her mother that was enough to convince Avallac'h of who she was. She patted his shoulder, then his neck and face as her bare right-hand slid across his cheek. She turned his head, exhaling white vapour.

She said something in that lyrical language, her voice soft with concern.

He regarded her with wonder, certain that she’d slipped across time and space. He’d seen her disappear in a flash of silver, form rippling as if she were an apparition. His skin prickled with goose-flesh, the frigid brush of her magic making him shiver. The winter’s kiss was cold like a blade plunged into a frozen lake. She’d inherited her mother’s talent for ice-magic, something that’d skipped Lara.

Not even Zireael had Shiadhal’s elemental affinity.

It was a revelation that hurt as much as it reassured him. He might have said something wise or witty to impress, though all coherent thought faded. He was caught in the moment, aware of her consideration. She’d saved him from colliding with the wall, getting a concussion and a few bruised and broken limbs. Yet none of that mattered when she cupped his cheek and looked into his eyes.

He pressed his mouth to hers in gratitude, ignorant of what she’d said.

Ellana tensed in shock, the kiss sudden and unexpected. She was stiff as a plank of wood, when his tongue brushed the seam of her lips. It was a hot wet length of pliant flesh that stroked back and forth with frightening expertise. She’d not been kissed since that day at the foot of an Eluvian in the hills outside Orlais. She’d lost an arm to her estranged beau along with her dignity.

She’d never forget the pain or the self-recrimination that’d followed.

Her eyes widened when Avallac'h sucked on her lower-lip. She squeaked like a mouse when his hand slid around her neck. She felt the whorls of her vallaslin prickle as if to awaken the magic contained within. Fearing a second assault, she didn’t reciprocate. Her lack of enjoyment doused Avallac'h’s ardour faster than a bucket of iced water.

Sensing her reluctance, he hesitated as if he’d made another grievous error.

He broke their lip-lock, feeling self-conscious the instant he saw her face. She was watching him with flinty eyes, her brows furrowing. She considered him for a moment, touching the bare fingers of her right-hand to her mouth. He groaned when she licked her lips as if savouring the taste of him. What he’d thought was a mistake changed the moment Ellana’s cheeks dimpled.

She smiled with a flash of white teeth.

Avallac'h was relieved, exhaling the breath he’d been holding. He smiled in return, feeling shy and foolish as if he were but a century old. He hadn’t been so bold with a woman in years, especially one he’d just met. He was glad Ellana hadn’t taken offence, though he was disappointed by her lukewarm reception. She hadn’t returned his affection, something Lara hadn’t done either.

He thought it was a sign of rejection.

Pride stinging, his enthusiasm soured. His mouth turned down, the sclera of his eyes turning watery. A single tear slipped down his cheek, another soon followed. He refused to sob like a child, though that didn’t stem the misery. He was disgusted by his own weakness, a thing most shameful for an Aen Saevherne.

He was a renowned scholar, a gifted mage and a guardian of the Elder Blood.

Yet he wept like a child denied the thing he’d wanted most in the world. He blinked, cheeks wet when Ellana murmured soothing words in her language. It sounded like an apology, the contrition upon her face turning his stomach. He saw regret, then pity as if she felt sorry for him. Her compassion while genuine made him feel worse.

“I don’t want your sympathy!”

Ellana grabbed his arm when he tried to pull away. He resisted believing she intended to chastise him as if he were a recalcitrant youth. He exhaled a shaky breath when she cupped his cheek again. The calloused pads of her thumb sliding beneath the lid of his eye. She wiped away his tears with a gentleness that upset him.

He inhaled a shuddering breath when she leaned inwards.

He was afraid when she pressed her mouth to his cheek. The brush of her lips burning like a brand. He was startled when she kissed him. It was slow and restrained, more exploratory than passionate. A heady combination that earned him a retaliatory nip when he tried to hurry it along.

She refused to be hasty, taking the time to enjoy herself to his frustration.

Back and forth they teased and tested each other. It could’ve been minutes or hours, though to Avallac'h it felt like an eternity. They parted sometime later, panting as if they’d run a mile. Their chests heaved with the strain of it, sweat beading upon their brows. Ellana’s smile was lascivious, the brazen waggle of her silver brows flustering him.

Avallac'h was red-faced when the pale lines upon her face glowed white-hot again.

He called her name, distraught when her skin turned translucent. He could see the dark outlines of the table, the pale lumps of the candles. The darkness of the tapestry immortalising Lara’s family tree was visible too. Ellana faded like a watercolour painting left out in the rain. The radiance of her tattoos growing brighter the more transparent she became.

“Don’t leave me alone”, he begged.

She pressed two fingers to her lips, blowing him a kiss in farewell. She vanished soon after, the markings on her face seared into his memory. He stared at the space where she’d resided for a handful of moments. His heart crawled up his throat, lodging behind his adam’s apple in a ball of misery. He doubled over keening, burying his face in his hands.

The sorrow came first, then the self-loathing.

It was almost dawn when he dragged himself to bed. He fell onto the mattress, exhausted in mind and body. His face wet, his eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot. He went to sleep miserable until he was discovered in a dream fully dressed. He sat up in the disarray of his own blankets, hair mussed and clothes wrinkled.

He stared at the woman sitting on the edge of his bed.

“Ellana?”

The silver-haired shrew wrinkled her nose in distaste. She gave his boots a disapproving look, seeing the soles upon his sheets. She shook her head, scowling with displeasure. She could condone his lack of nightclothes, but not the retention of his footwear. One wore socks to bed not shoes.

“Your boots are filthy. You ought to have taken them off before going to bed. Now your sheets and blankets will need washing. A task you could’ve saved yourself if you’d been sensible before falling asleep again. You’ll be up to your elbows in suds when next you wake”.

Avallac'h forgot his misery, taking umbrage at her callousness. “It’s my bed! I will sleep in it however I want too!”

Ellana snorted, rolling her eyes. “Why are you taking offence? Maker’s arse. Are you always this high-strung? I thought a kiss or two would soften you up”.

He quietened at that, cheeks flushing a lurid pink. “You left me”.

“I told you that I can’t maintain corporeal form for long in the waking world. It’s a weakness I’ve tried and failed to overcome, despite being an oneiromancer. My connection to my body is tenuous, but I know that I’m not dead. I can’t return to it because something is interfering. The tattoos you saw on my face are some kind of seal or barrier spell”.

He sniffled, the tears welling anew. “I wanted you to stay”.

“I’m not Lara”.

He gave her a look of abject misery. “You kissed me as if you could have loved me. There was warmth, tenderness and desire though it was restrained. Lara never showed me such regard, even though we were betrothed. So why did you?”

Avallac'h sensed something was off when Ellana bit her lip. She averted her eyes, glancing at the rumpled blankets about his heels. She plucked at the sheets, a nervous twitch as if she were trying to distract herself. He didn’t allow her to ignore him, catching her fingers. He pulled the sheet away, gripping her knuckles.

“Ellana”, he called. “Why did you seek me out?”

“I need your help”.

“Is that the only reason?”

Her reply was succinct. “No”.

“Then why?”

She exhaled a weary breath, her shoulders slumping. Lara had cautioned her not to string him along. Avallac'h didn’t hold grudges, but he remembered those that’d deceived him. The future would be difficult if their relationship began with a lie. She exhaled a shaky breath when he slipped a finger under her chin.

“Look at me”.

She did as he asked, gazing at him with chagrin. She saw his red and watery eyes, wet face and wobbling chin. He pouted unhappily as if he might burst into tears again. She’d made him cry, a fact that bothered her more than it should have. He was a man grown not a child on the cusp of adulthood.

She’d expected greater maturity not dread and desperation.

“Why did you seek me out?”

Ellana exhaled a weary breath, choosing honesty over deceit. “I once dreamt of a fox chased by a pack of wolves with pelts as red as blood. A sparrowhawk circled overhead, screeching as if in remonstration. The wolves snapped at the fox’s tail, almost catching him until a swallow swooped down. They disappeared together in a swirl of silver-blue light”.

Avallac'h gasped. “My flight with Zireael from Eredin and the Red Riders”. He was bewildered by her candour. “If you saw that than what else did you dream? Tell me”.

“It would be easiest to show you”.

“How?”

She held out her hand. “How else? Let’s go for a walk”.

“Together?”

“If you like”.


	4. Of Bees and Butterflies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited. 2nd draft. Minor corrections in spelling and use of some words.

Avallac’h placed his hand in hers, uncertain if she’d lead him astray. He was wary when she set her heels on the floor, expecting something strange to happen. She arose with a sense of purpose, tugging on his fingers. He followed her, the bed-frame creaking as the mattress shifted. He was soon on his feet, crossing the bedroom with her hand-in-hand.

They passed tapestries and brocade curtains, walked over handwoven rugs. 

A simple way to disguise the mortared walls and granite floors. If he'd had to spend years away from Tir ná Lia. He'd wanted reminders of home. He'd been meticulous about the furniture too. There was a dressing table with an oval mirror, a set of side-tables and an armoire. A bookshelf contained the rest of his scrolls, books and papers. 

A desk with an ornate carved wooden chair sat against the far wall.

He’d matched the elegance with a large double bed. He’d once had a companion to fill it, until she’d left for Tir ná Lia in a fury. It hadn’t mattered that he’d been running from Eredin, trying to avoid capture and execution. Her jealousy over Zireael had culminated in a row. She’d questioned his devotion, fidelity and his sense of propriety.

Dh’oine were an inferior species unfit for breeding.

Avallac'h took a visceral satisfaction in walking with Ellana. His former paramour would be seething with jealousy if she’d known her birthright. The youngest daughter of Shiadhal, last Queen of the Aen Elle. Lara Dorren’s half-sister, a fellow heir of the Elder Blood. A woman as elven as she was, though a little rough around the edges.

He followed when she led him to the doorway. It was there that she paused, glancing back over her shoulder. Avallac’h was wary the instant she regarded him with concern. She warned him about what he would see. He didn’t understand what she meant, expecting they’d find the laboratory beyond.

Surely some things in the world of dreams never changed. 

“When I open that door”, cautioned Ellana. “Things will not be as you expect them too. It’ll be a shock, even disorienting. I’m a little different to your usual oneiromancer. You’ll soon find out why”.

He frowned. “How different?”

“Let’s see”. She gestured to the closed bedroom door. “Shall we?” 

“After you”.

She turned the latch, pushing the door open. It swung wide, revealing a meadow filled with wild flowers. Sprigs of yellow, blue, and red blooms bobbed amidst lush swards. Shrubs with small oval leaves dotted the landscape, growing under the sparse trees. Birds sang in boughs laden with white blossoms.

Bees buzzed whilst butterflies fluttered on vibrant black and orange wings.

It was almost too beautiful to comprehend. The wind was cool, the sky a vibrant periwinkle-blue and the sun a golden orb on the horizon. He was bewitched, nostrils flaring as he inhaled the sweetness of honeysuckle. He followed when Ellana crossed the threshold, the heels of her boots clipping the ground. He was surprised to find a path winding through the glade, its cobbles flat, wide and crusted with lichen.

“How is this possible?”

“It’s a dream. Mine to be precise. I told you that I wasn’t your usual oneiromancer. I can shape my dreams, even share them if I'm so inclined. I’m different to what you’re used too, so let this be an introduction to my strangeness”.

He didn’t like her phrasing. “You’re unique not an aberration”.

“That’s sweet if a tad naive”.

He took offence on her behalf, intent on arguing. No daughter of the Elder Blood was a horror deserving of ridicule. He hated how the dh’oine thought of Lara’s descendants as cursed creatures. They were magically gifted, but far from the raging lunatics human history had painted them to be.

“It is not naivety!”

Ellana rolled her eyes. “Must you challenge me on everything?”

“I will when you’re wrong!” hissed Avallac'h. “You’re a daughter of the Elder Blood! A gift to the world! You are not strange by any stretch of the imagination! That is the truth, whether you want to believe it or not!”

She shrugged, capitulating. She knew when to pick her battles. He was an Aen Saevherne that’d spent his life studying her half-sister’s genealogy. If she dared counter than they’d be there all night, disputing the relevance of his argument. Better that he stewed in his own frustration than sank his claws in like an aggrieved tomcat. 

“If you say so”.

Her acceptance sounded more like dismissal. A tactic Zireael had utilised whenever she’d refused to budge on a point of contention. It was neither victory nor defeat, but a middle-ground where neither side agreed. Avallac'h hated being stuck there, though he had little choice. He held his tongue, curbing the desire to spit at her like an irate feline.

“Fine. We’ll talk about this later”.

“Got a bone to pick?” she teased.

He lifted his nose in the air, refusing to answer.

Ellana smirked, taking her time so he could enjoy the scenery. It was strange to bring him to this hilltop overlooking a tributary of the Minanter river. It flowed through the Free Marches, then out to sea near Wycome along the Amaranthine coast. It’d been a harbour of safety in the quagmire of her past. A place of peace until its destruction during the Veil war. 

Avallac'h proved more curious than irritated. “Where are we?”

“In a place I treasured that no longer exists”.

That got his attention. “What happened here?”

“This meadow was razed by dragonfire. The trees were alight in moments, the flowers engulfed in flame. I watched it burn from the river below, trapped between the water and the shore. I would’ve drowned if not for the help of a spirit. She saved my life”.

His heart lodged in his throat, tight with anticipation. He wondered if Ellana had meant Lara. He was afraid to ask, lest he be disappointed. He was quiet when she led him across the meadow, the heels of her boots clipping the cobblestones. The rhythmic thud a distraction as he counted her footsteps. 

“You’re wondering if it was my sister”.

He was relieved by her question, though her perceptiveness unnerved him. It was strange to be read like an open book by a woman he barely knew. That Ellana recalled how he’d first reacted to news about Lara shamed him. She’d picked at the wound he’d thought long-healed, tearing it open till it was red and raw again. He was resentful of Lara choosing Cregennan, of the child she’d conceived that should have been his.

“Yes”, admitted Avallac’h with a heavy heart. “Can you blame me?”

“You’re awfully transparent. You appear self-composed, but there’s a lot going on under that handsome exterior. You give the impression that you’re indifferent, when in actuality you care a great deal. Something Lara refused to acknowledge once she’d left Tir ná Lia. You loved her, you still do though it’s been a hundred years and more since you parted ways”.

There was that candid insight, an unnerving facet of her personality. “It’s easier”.

“I know. Better to present a façade of calm and control, than to reveal that you’re breaking on the inside. We all don masks to hide our emotions. I’ve worn my share over the years to maintain a sense of detachment. What else could I do when the man I loved betrayed me?”

Avallac’h stopped cold, his fingers tightening like a vice. He refused to take another step when Ellana tugged on his hand. His eyes narrowed beneath furrowed brows. He was enraged by the revelation that another had stepped into his place. Again.

His voice was sharp, his tone accusing. “Were you wed?”

Ellana turned around, arching a silver brow. She studied him for a moment, noting the way he scowled as if she’d deceived him. It was refreshing to see his face twist with open hostility. He didn’t release her hand, but he eyed her with distrust. He thought she’d strung him along. 

“No”.

“Was he human?”

“Elven. But before you ask and make this more awkward. He rejected me before our relationship could progress beyond friendship. I was young and mistook infatuation for love. I wanted to marry him and start a family, but he had other ideas”.

Avallac’h couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “He did?”

“Quite”, she confirmed without elaborating upon her failed romance. “We grew apart in the end, going our separate ways. Some decades later I learned that he’d regretted not pursuing me. He said that he’d always loved me. That he’d wanted what I’d wanted, but he hadn’t been ready at the time”.

“Did you believe him?”

“How could I? More than two hundred years had passed since the day we’d met. I’d grown older, wiser and leerier of men like him. Yet his heart was unchanged. He loved me still, wanted me by his side then assumed that was where I belonged”.

It was then that Avallac’h understood, recalling the statuette upon his table. The wolf with eyes like rubies that shone red in the candlelight. She’d spoken not of a beast, but an elven man from her world. A determined hunter that like a wolf, had tracked her for miles in the realm of dreams. The goal to find and retrieve what he’d lost. 

“He’s the wolf. The one that hunts you”. 

“That he is”, agreed Ellana. “The stubborn, bastard. I wouldn’t have fled this far if he hadn’t chased me away. I could've returned of my own volition, retaking my body if he hadn’t been so possessive. He spurned me like Lara spurned you, which makes him an arsehole”.

Her animosity towards this ‘other man’ pleased Avallac'h. It was an opinion he was ready and willing to encourage. “Your former beau is a hypocrite too. He rejected you than wanted you back. That alone makes him unworthy of you”.

“Now there’s something we both agree on”.

Appeased and reassured, he looked to the world around them. To the trees laden with blooms, the wildflowers swaying on delicate stems. The bees that crawled over petals collecting pollen. The butterflies that flitted from flower to flower. A gentle breeze ruffled his hair, bending thin stalks of grass in an undulating wave.

It was spring encapsulated in a single memory of a place he’d never seen.

“No oneiromancer can dream with this clarity, let alone share it with another. They see the past, the future and foretell what might happen or what did. This place is more than a construct, it’s so real it’s as if I were there. I can smell the flowers, feel the sun on my skin and the wind in my hair. This is no dreamer’s divination”.

He looked to her for guidance, overwhelmed and unafraid. It was exciting to be experiencing something new. A side of magic that was as interesting as it was unfamiliar. He felt safe with Ellana as his chaperone. She’d yet to release his hand, careful to keep a hold of him lest he run amidst the flowers. 

“May I explore?”

He bounced on the balls of his feet, eager to inspect the trees and the flowers. He tried to stay still, to curb his enthusiasm. It was difficult with so much unknown magic around him. He wanted to touch and taste what he could see. He smiled in relief when Ellana laughed, patting his knuckles.

“Come on then”. 

**********************

They walked amidst the flowers for what seemed like hours. Avallac'h pulled Ellana left and right, pausing often to ask questions. Sometimes he pointed to an unfamiliar plant, asking after its properties. Other times he wanted to stand still long enough to inhale the clean fresh air. It was later when they sat together in the grass, that he gestured to the world around them.

“It this place a dream or a memory?”

“Both”, replied Ellana. “This is how it was before it was burned to ash. A quiet place on the edge of a forest, upon a hill overlooking a river that flowed out to sea. I could always smell the salt on the air, and hear the gulls squawking as they flew to the coast. I’d camp out here for weeks, passing my days hunting, fishing and sleeping in the sun”.

“It sounds restful”.

She gave him a sharp look. “Don’t do that”.

“Do what?” asked Avallac'h.

“Judge. I can tell that you think me lying about on my arse was a waste of time. Respite isn’t something you do. Is it? You’re always reading, researching and seeking answers to whatever mystifies you”.

“I am of the Aen Saevherne”.

“An elven sage. I know”.

He’d been polite thus far, his questions mundane rather than pointed. She appreciated his restraint, though she knew he was as inquisitive as a cat. It was a surprise that he hadn’t yet clawed her to pieces in his excitement. He wanted to learn more about her, to understand how she fitted into his world. She snorted when he gave her a pleading look.

“Go on then. Ask”.

Avallac'h grinned in earnest, enthused by her willingness to indulge him. “I have so many questions”.

“Start with something small”.

“How are you able to recall a memory, relive it and share it with another in a dream?”

“Among my father's people, I'm known as a somniari”, explained Ellana. “A mage that can dream of the past, but can't foretell the future. We don't divine as an oneiromancer can, but we’re able to travel the Fade at will. The space between worlds that connects all places and times. It’s not navigable without a guide, but somniari have an excellent sense of direction”. 

He inhaled a shuddering breath. “The Spiral”, he intoned in awe. “A sense of direction? You got lost. You said that Lara found you wandering the Fade. Was she your guide?”

“For the most part until she tried ordering me about. It didn’t go well”.

“No”, he chuckled. “It wouldn’t have. You’re as strong-willed as she was, but enough about Lara. I’m more interested in learning about you. How do you enter the Fade?”

She proved forthcoming, much to his appreciation. “Most sominiari do so while unconscious”.

“But not you?”

She went quiet, reflecting on her past. The perilous events that she’d survived. The evils that she’d conquered and overcome. The lives that she’d saved. The titles of rank and status that’d shaped her like clay on a potter’s wheel.

She’d understood who she was until the day everything had changed. 

“I’m a special case”.

Avallac'h kept pace, beat for beat. “How special?”

“Somniari have to be asleep to enter the Fade, but I can do so while awake. I can also shape it into anything I want it to be. A place, a person, a creature, or a thing. I have to know what I’m trying to shape, otherwise it doesn’t work. The Fade reflects like a mirror, so it’s limited by my own experience”.

“Shape it? How?”

“Well simple things are easy with a little practice. It gets harder if I force something into a new shape. But a change of colour isn’t that difficult. I’ll show you. Watch”.

Ellana lifted her bare right-hand into the air. A butterfly fluttered over, abandoning its flower to alight upon her fingers. It fanned its wings, that bright orange darkening to a ruddy blood-red. The black spots and lines were blue then green before turning black again. It wasn’t until the butterfly took flight that he noticed the sun reflecting off its scales.

He saw flashes of iridescence in blue, green and purple.

“A d'yaebl aép arse”.

She gave him a strange look. “Did you proposition me?”

Avallac'h stared at her. “What?” He blinked, eyes widening in alarm when he recalled what he’d said. “Oh! No! It’s an expression in Hen Llinge, the Elder Speech of the Aen Seidhe”.

She wasn’t convinced. “What does it mean?”

He was reluctant to tell her. The Elder Speech contained enough epithets to make a maiden blush. He didn’t want to make the wrong impression on Ellana. The language of the Aen Seidhe was more colourful than Ellylon. He’d been discomforted enough by her demonstration to swear without thinking.

Only certain foul-mouthed scoia’tael were that vulgar.

“It’s rude and offensive. I’d rather not provide a translation”.

He was relieved when Ellana relented. “Fine. If you won’t translate that in the common-tongue. Can you tell me what ‘Elaine blath’ means? I thought you’d called me an ugly turnip or a pile of horseshit”.

Avallac'h was offended on principle. “That is not what I said!” He soon realised that she’d been teasing him. She grinned from ear-to-ear, the green of her eyes twinkling. He got the joke when she winked at him with the mischievousness of a woodland sprite.

“It means – Beautiful flower”.

“It does?”

He didn’t like her tone. “Why is that so surprising?”

She tucked several strands of silver hair behind a pointed ear. The movement stiff and mechanical, rather than shy. She didn’t blush as if she were flustered. She exhaled a weary sigh as if there was an underlying insecurity. The way she glanced at the toes of her boots, rather than look at him seemed confirmation enough.

Ellana lacked confidence in herself.

“I’ve never been pretty or soft and feminine. I grew up wearing breeches, not gowns and petticoats. I’ve never worn cosmetics, or learned to apply them. I was taught how to shoot arrows, to hunt and fight with a blade. I can track a deer a thousand miles, not dance a jig or spin in a circle with skirts twirling”.

“You’re Lara’s opposite, but quite like Zireael”, declared Avallac'h. “She was born into privilege, but her life changed the day Nilfgaard invaded Cintra. Her guardian taught her the skills she’d need to survive on her own. Yet before she met him, she did a fine job of looking after herself. You’ve got the same hardiness she had, though I suspect your story is more complicated”.

“It is”, she agreed. “I wasn’t born into privilege. My father’s not a King”.

“Were you a vagrant?”

“Nomad. My people wandered the lands and forests of my world. We lived in clans, never staying in one place for long. It was dangerous to do so. Humans were never fond of elves, nor we of them”.

“That is unsurprising. Although I suspect there is more to your tale. Would you share it with me?”

“No”.

“Zireael didn’t trust me either. I can live with that, though I'd like to change your mind”.

“Give it time”.

He was quiet for a moment, observing her as he’d once observed Zireael. Ellana didn’t fill the silence with idle gossip, or fidget like a child. She was comfortable enough to sit and stare at the grass. He wondered what she saw in those thin blade-like leaves. He soon found out when a sward sprouted pale flowers with six petals in the shape of a star.

It was Evermind that grew on the cairns of the dead. 

“I suspect that making flowers bloom is the least of your abilities”.

She was wary of him, never raising her eyes. “Why do you say that?”

“If a somniari can share and shape dreams. If theirs is a magic utilised only when they’re asleep. Than you’re a rarity among the mages of your world. If you can shape the Fade while awake or asleep, than in your hands the fabric of Time and Space is malleable. Zireael can travel between worlds, but she can't alter matter with a thought”.

“So I changed the colour of a butterfly’s wings”, said Ellana. “I made the grass flower too. It’s not a grand alteration. The butterfly is still a butterfly. The grass is still grass”.

Avallac'h disagreed. “Even small changes can prove significant. You know that or you wouldn’t have been so cautious. I assume that you could’ve turned the butterfly into a bee. Or the flower into a tree. You didn’t because you have a sense of restraint”.

Ellana didn’t like how insightful he was. “I have too”.

“Why?”

“It’s easy to break things, but it’s harder to fix what’s broken”.

“You’re speaking from experience. From the tone of your voice. It was a terrible lesson to learn. You regret it. That much is clear”.

It was odd to hear it a second time, even if the voice was different. Her estranged beau had drawn the same conclusions. His astonishment had turned to anger than accusation. He’d asked questions, demanding answers she couldn’t provide. Then there’d been raised voices, flaring tempers and a blazing light so bright it’d burned.

She tensed, going quiet.

Avallac'h called her name, once then twice. He was worried when her eyes closed. She trembled as if she were afraid, the world about them changing in response. Shadows passed overhead, engulfing the meadow in a dreary greyness. The wildflowers wilted, turning brown and brittle as the clouds swallowed the sun.

The breeze once refreshing cooled till he was exhaling white fog.

He trembled in the chill, his skin goosepimpling with unease. The thin stalks of the grass grew fine hair-thin thorns that stuck into the seams of his breeches. He rose to his feet, escaping the painful prickling that threatened to pierce his boots. He was wary when he spied a butterfly in the grass, twitching as if in the throes of death. Its wings pierced by long thistles.

He glanced around the meadow, spying more sparks of colour.

They were easy to pick out amidst the throngs of dying bees. He heard their mournful droning, reminded of fat blowflies buzzing about a corpse. He was afraid when thunder roared on the horizon. He studied the sky, seeing it darken from periwinkle-blue to burnt umber. Even the birds had gone quiet before the approaching maelstrom.

“Ellana”, he called, voice filled with trepidation. 

She stirred at the sound of her name, shivering in the cold. Her eyes opened, though her irises were glazed and unfocused. Her face cracked like an eggshell, thin fissures ran along the curves of her temples, cheeks and chin. Fine sand-like flakes crumbled away to reveal the curling lines of her vallaslin. It was painted upon her skin, flashing white than silver as if aflame.

“Ellana?”

Her brows furrowed as if she were struggling to concentrate. Avallac'h was fearful that he might be caught in something dangerous. She’d warned him that one could drown in a dream, that it was perilous without protection. He took a step forward, planting his boot in a patch of thistles. Each had thorns as long as his thumb, though to his amazement the prickly leaves turned aside.

The thorns ceased to poke him, leaving an inch-wide gap around his ankles.

He made his way to Ellana, reaching for her with steady hands. He cupped her face, palms warm against her bare cheeks. Her lashes fluttered, the glassiness in her eyes fading as her pupils dilated. She blinked at him, confused as if she were coming out of a daze. He was startled when she recognised him, her smile dazzling in its gladness.

Lara had never been that happy to see him. 

“Avallac'h”.

He stroked her cheeks, careful to avoid the silver-white lines. He recalled the danger of the warding spell disguised as a series of intricate tattoos. It was pretty against the bronze of her skin, a lovely contrast with the silver of her hair. Yet it glowed like a lantern in the night, bright then dark until the magic stabilised. The silver was vivid, the lines a pristine white. 

He wasn’t a stranger to this brand of magic, though he’d never seen this kind of spell.

“Your vallaslin is back”.

She lifted her right-hand to her face, running the pads of her fingers over her cheek. It was almost as if she didn’t believe him until something sparked. It was as if she’d touched a woollen blanket than a metal pole. The resultant charge, although small was enough to bite. She jumped in surprise, cursing in that strange bird-like language.

“Fenedhis!”

The word sounded vulgar. Avallac'h wondered if she’d translate, though he knew better than to ask. Ellana didn’t trust him. He hoped to change her mind. He focused instead on the matter at hand.

“Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine if a little addled”, she replied, shaking her head as if to clear it of cobwebs. “You reminded me of something I’d forgotten. I’d once argued with the prick hunting me. We quarrelled then there was an explosion. I broke something belonging to him”.

“An explosion?”

“There was a brightness that burned. I set myself aflame, it gets foggy after that. I don’t remember what happened, but I know he was there. He snapped and snarled like a wolf, baring his teeth as if to bite me. So I bit him instead”.

Avallac'h put the clues together, paling at the thought of angering a daughter of the Elder Blood. He’d seen Zireael lose control of her magic, opening a portal into the void. Her screams had reverberated across Time and Space, her anguish deafening and destructive. She’d shaken the ruins of Kaer Morhen down to its foundations. 

“How badly?”

Ellana grimaced. “Bad enough for him to brand me”. She gestured to the pale lines of the vallaslin upon her face. “He’s the reason I have a warding spell on my skin. He’s got my body sealed away somewhere, or he’s trying to contain whatever I did”.

“Magically?”

“I don’t know”.

Avallac'h swallowed, paling at the prospect that she might’ve done something terrible. After what he’d seen Zireael do, it was easy to assume the worst. He’d found bits of the Red Riders scattered across ten worlds. Their corpses torn apart by the forces of Time and Space. If Ellana had done something similar, he pitied the man that’d followed her across the Fade.

“That doesn’t sound like a tear in the fabric of Time and Space. Nor does it sound like a portal left open to another world”. He thought for a moment, reflecting on what she’d told him. “If you caused an explosion, than you might have unlocked more of these foci. Perhaps several at once to warrant the branding of a binding seal on your skin”.

She blinked, comprehension dawning. “Oh”.

“Oh?”

“So that’s what I broke. I’d wondered why he was mad at me”.

*****************

It was a relief when the sky lightened, the clouds returning as the sun shone overhead. The dreariness receded till the garden of Ellana’s dreams was wild, bright and green again. The chill in the wind lessened, warming till it reminded Avallac'h of cool evenings in spring. The scent of honeysuckle filled the air. The flowers bobbed in the breeze, soft petals delicate as a whisper of silk.

The bees and butterflies buzzed and fluttered groggily as if waking from slumber.

Avallac'h was unsettled, despite the pleasantness around him. The inch long prickles were gone, leaving bare blades of grass. Each lengthy stalk swaying, but never again sprouting thorns. It was calm, a façade of stillness in the midst of a storm. He’d seen Ellana bend the meadow to her whim, its existence altered by the depth of her emotions. 

If she could shape the fabric of Time and Space, he was afraid of what catastrophe she might cause. Her unlocking of mystical objects full of latent magical energies worried him. If she could do that and open portals incapable of closing. The consequences could be disastrous across worlds and between them. He was wary when she broke that tense uncomfortable silence.

“You’re afraid of me”.

“You’re a danger like Zireael”.

“To whom?” 

“Everyone”.

“I know it”, she stated, agreeing with him. “Although you’ve less to fear than most”.

He frowned, troubled by her words. He was uncertain if it was a statement or a warning. Ellana had a mercurial side to her that belied the mentality of a soldier. She might’ve dressed in leather and steel, but her perception of the world didn’t exist in straight lines. There was no good versus evil, no right and wrong.

She had a rogue’s perception of reality, where all things were in shades of grey.

“Why?” he demanded. “Lara never sought to spare my feelings. She wedded Cregennan of Lod, bore his child then died soon after giving birth. Once he’d learned she’d expired, the Alder King sought my execution. I’d failed to recover her alive, though I tried yet she refused to return to Tir ná Lia”.

Ellana acknowledged his claims, but refused to accept his excuses. “I know. You tried to help her and her child, but she feared you’d alert Eredin and the Red Riders. So she used what strength she had left to open a portal. She blasted you through it with a lightning spell”.

Avallac'h remembered the white-hot pain, the smell of burning hair and linen. He was shaking when she nodded as if to affirm his suspicions. No one knew of his last encounter with Lara Dorren, but hours before she’d perished in the cold. She’d doubted him then, refusing to see reason as she feared he’d betray her to Eredin. The thought had never crossed his mind, though it’d occurred to Lara with her daughter in her arms. 

“Did she tell you?”

“I dreamt of it”. She considered him for a moment. “Should I show you?”

“Yes”.


End file.
